I make awesome time, for once, and find a front-row parking spot at Beau Jo’s Pizza. The smell of sausage and homemade bread filter out of the establishment and attack my senses, but thankfully doesn’t spark any waves of queasiness. Swinging open the door, I send up a little prayer that my luck continues and the Hawaiian pizza that I’m about to inhale stays down.

John is standing in the foyer and immediately smiles when he sees me. “Come here, prego,” he says as he picks me up and swings me around. “I’m shocked you’re on time; I thought we’d be waiting for at least another twenty minutes.”

I roll my eyes, at his backwards compliment. He’s like a big teddy bear that you can’t help but love. I only wish he would get a better handle on the idea of personal space. He constantly invades my bubble and doesn’t think twice about it.

“We?” I ask hesitantly when he finally puts me down. “I thought it was just you and I.”

John looks at me apologetically but doesn’t get the opportunity to answer. The men’s room door opens and out walks Royce. “Well, shit. There goes my dinner; the nausea has returned,” I say sarcastically.

“Hey, Yoko, glad you could make it,” he says with a shit eating grin while he adjusts himself.

I narrow my eyes at John, who instantly looks away from me and walks to our table. So I turn my attention to my nemesis.

“Hello Royce. I noticed you’re having a below the belt situation,” I say, pointing to his crotch area. “Did Stacy finally give you the clap or is your dick so small, you pissed on your balls?”

I turn on my heel to catch up to John, but Royce moves quickly placing his arm around my shoulder. “Since you’re curious, I was shifting things around because my anaconda keeps hitting my knee and I need to move the man snake to the other side before it leaves a mark. I bruise like a peach.”

He chuckles at my look of disgust. “You’re so gross,” I insist as I push him away from me and rush to the table. John pulls my chair out for me, and I sit down as I grab a menu to help avoid any more conversation with Royce.

My plan fails when Royce steals my menu and sits across from me. John looks completely embarrassed but says nothing, so I take the initiative. “What do I owe the pleasure, since we apparently, are not having pizza tonight?”

“We come in peace, Jen,” John explains. “Really. We don’t mean to piss you off. Right, Royce?” His lips are tight and his eyes narrow, willing Royce to go with the flow. The ostentatious lead singer I know though is not going to give a shit about the request of his friend.

“You bet.” Royce affirms as he waves over a waitress. “I don’t want to be in the war path of those hormones; a man like me wouldn’t survive.” John shakes his head and rubs his hands across his face like this discussion is torture for him.

The waitress makes her way to our table, but when she begins to address us, Royce speaks over her. “We don’t need to hear the specials, sweetpea. My friend and I will just take whatever you have on tap, but she’s knocked up so just bring her a water.” He points to me and gives me a little wink which earns him the best crusty look I can throw at him. The waitress looks to me for confirmation, and I just give her a nod that the water is fine. I’m thankful when she leaves without asking anything else.

“So. We wanted to invite you here to find out what your intentions are with are boy?” John probes sheepishly.

“Are you fucking kidding me, guys?” I spit out, annoyed with this dinner outing and Royce’s mouth. “This isn’t the 1800’s and Casen and I aren’t in some G-rated courtship. Just ask me what you want to know,” I demand impatiently.

“Simmer it down, Madre,” Royce interjects. “We know that Casen is in love with you, but we also know he loves his music. We just want to make sure that you have his best interest at heart. That you aren’t going to be one of those groupie bitches that snags a man on his way up by getting pregnant, comes between him and his band, and then leaves him when he doesn’t have a penny to his name.”

“I have been with you guys for a while now, and this is really what you think of me?” I ask unsure if I am more hurt than pissed over their accusation.

“No!” John shouts. “We think you’re great. He’ll never admit it, but even Royce thinks so. We just want Casen to be happy. He’s been through a lot, and he would do anything for anyone, without ever expecting anything in return. We want to know that you’ll give as much as you take.”

“And that you won’t break up the band,” Royce interrupts. John elbows him, attempting to shut him up and Royce throws his hands up in defense. “What? We want to know that too.”

“Basically, you think I’m going to steal him away from you guys and make him get some shitty nine to five job to support the baby I stuck him with,” I clarify.

“No!” John contends.

“Yes,” Royce says at the same time.

My face flushes and my body vibrates as the anger takes hold. “You guys are pricks,” I snap, as I push my chair away from the table and begin to stand.

“Stop,” Royce says grabbing my arm, halting my mad dash out of the building. “Please. We just want to make sure that were on the same page, that’s all.”

I take a deep breath and slowly return to me seat. “Fine let’s hear it.”

“We all think you’re a kickass chick, Jen,” Royce begins.

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him, disbelieving his attempt at a compliment.

“We really do,” John adds.

“The band is supposed to start recording in a month or so,” Royce continues. “Casen has always wanted to be a dad, and he’s always wanted to play his music. We need to know that you’re going to be okay with how life will change for all of us, that you won’t hurt him. He deserves to have both of his dreams come true.”

Taking my time to rein in my fury and compose myself, I gather the words that I need to tell these two. “I know what it’s like to be in the public eye,” I tell them. “There are some great perks, of course, but there is also some fucked up things that come along with fame. None of it is going to scare me away from Casen, guys. I’m here to stay, so you better start treating me like the kickass chick that I am.”

Royce cracks a smile. “I can live with that,” he says, lightly smacking my back.

“Good. Now buy me a damn Hawaiian pizza.”

Jen

I must be out of my fucking mind. I take that back, Casen must be out of his fucking mind and I must have had my frontal lobe removed to agree to this camping trip. It’s just Casen and me in his little camper with five, I repeat, five children! Blake, the queens of the divas Emma and Grace, Olivia, and Abby who I invited. Hendrix is coming along, but I’m putting him in the adult category so I don’t feel so outnumbered. I have to admit, I’m a little worried about my safety. If these kids decide to revolt, it will play out like a scene from The Hunger Games and I’m positive my camera isn’t going to save my pampered ass.

Casen already went up to the campground and got everything ready for the weekend. Fishing gear, sleeping bags, lawn chairs, and massive amounts of snacks, which could feed a third world country. I don’t know how Feed the Children can feed a child on thirty cents a day; our food bill was nowhere near that estimate. My credit card will never be the same.

I’m in charge of picking up the kids and taking them to the campsite. I think everyone is overestimating my managerial skills because I personally don’t see this ending well. As I pull into Vivian’s driveway, I see all of the kids, aside from Abby who’ll be meeting us there, lined up along the entryway. The wide range of moods peering back at me has me shitting myself before I even get out of my car. Blake, as expected, is full of excitement with a perma-grin plastered on his face. The folded arms and frowns, which Emma and Grace are sporting in addition to the mounds of suitcases next to them, suggest they will be the leaders of this weekend’s revolution. Then there is little Olivia. I’m not too concerned with her. I’ve assigned Henri to her for the weekend. I even bought a special leash with clips on both ends so I can connect them together. There will be no wandering off for that little munchkin.